


my name is not yours to keep (until it is)

by crimsvn



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fae & Fairies, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, fae!george
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsvn/pseuds/crimsvn
Summary: Dream had always been told not to go too deep in the forest, especially at night, but those warnings are hardly able to stop him throughout the years.Fae were not real. They weren't supposed to be.Except theywere.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 205





	my name is not yours to keep (until it is)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honeybeb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeb/gifts).



> this is a little bit late, but here's a gift for gen from her suggestion for fae!george :)

_**AGE 10** _

“Patches! Patches, where are you?”

Dream cupped his hands around his mouth and called the cat’s name over and over, wandering the forest aimlessly. Sticks and dead leaves crunch under his feet, the only sound in an otherwise silent expanse of wilderness as he anxiously searches for his pet. 

The sun had begun to sink low in the sky, darkness starting to envelope the tall, looming trees that seemed to continue on forever. A chill runs up Dream’s spine as the temperature begins to fall, but he was determined to find Patches before night fell—because if he didn’t, it wasn’t all that likely she’d live to see morning.

The forest was a dangerous place. Dream shouldn’t even be there—but Patches was missing, lost and alone out in the forest. 

Like Dream might soon be.

His heart falls as he loses hope, having seen no sign of Patches for as long as he’d been searching. Dream feels like he has been walking in circles, the trees beginning to meld together and look all the same, his path beaten down by his own previous footsteps. 

But then he hears a rustling bush and a quiet mewl, and Patches is emerging from some shrubbery Dream had recently grown familiar with. He crouches close to the ground and clicks his tongue to get her attention. Patches trots up to Dream, and he scoops her into his arms, ready to find his way home before the darkness makes it impossible to do so.

Dream stands, cradling Patches close to him, but as he takes a look around—he realizes he doesn’t remember which direction he came from. His heart pounded against his chest as he whirled around, looking for a way out, a clear trail, a  _ light  _ maybe, but Dream didn’t see anything. He felt a lump rise in his throat, and tears threatened his eyes.

“Are you lost?” Someone asks from behind, and Dream nearly jumps three feet into the air. If it weren’t for Patches’s calming purrs, he might even scream.

Dream turns around, wide-eyed and frightened. A boy stands before him, if only a few years older than Dream. He appears much too calm for someone so young to be in the middle of a deep woods at nightfall. Dream holds Patches closer.

“Maybe,” Dream admits, and his voice is much too small for his liking. Too afraid. Dream rolls his shoulders back and musters what little courage he had to seem tough to the taller boy. “What’s it to you?”

The boy shrugs.  _ “I  _ personally don’t care,” he says, and Dream notices the twang of an accent foreign to where they lived. “But the forest might start to mind.”

Dream furrows his brow. “The… the forest?”

The boy nods. “That’s right. Well, more specifically, what  _ lives  _ in the forest.”

Dream takes a step back, away from the boy. Patches wriggles uncomfortably in his arms, but Dream keeps a tight hold on her. “And what lives in the forest?”

“Me, for starters,” the boy informs, taking a step towards Dream. “But, because I’m nice, I’ll give you a chance to leave before it’s too late. I’ll help you and your cat get home safe and sound. On one condition.”

Dream shakes his head. “No, I—I can make it back on my own. I don’t need help from a stranger.”

The boy blinks, tilting his head. “I’m George. Just give me  _ your _ name and we won’t be strangers anymore.”

Dream’s name is on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitates. His instincts screamed at him to do anything but tell George, even if Dream wasn’t  _ actually  _ his name. “What did you just say?”

“Give me your name,” George repeats, much more forcefully this time, as if gritting the words through clenched teeth. “Then we won’t be strangers. Right?”

Dream takes another step back, though it’s more of a stumble. He flinches as a twig snaps under his weight. “You’re not just any stranger,” Dream says. “You’re not… you’re a  _ fae.” _

George frowns. His eye twitches, his jaw ticks. “That’s a rather harsh accusation. What makes you say that?”

“No one asks for a name like that,” Dream explains, and while it wasn’t any solid evidence, it was still _weird._ And George’s adamance, too. Dream’s mother had always warned him of mythical strangers almost _desperate_ for a name. A stranger, a creature of the forest, starving for power over a poor, weak human—and Dream had an inkling George was just that.

George huffs. “Fine. You’re not wrong,” he says curtly. His pupils then go thin like a cat in the sun, squared human teeth sharpening into deadly points in the blink of an eye. “But since it doesn’t look like you’re giving me your name any time soon, you’d better run off before I find a werewolf to  _ eat _ you.”

Dream doesn’t wait a second longer to turn tail and run as far from George as he can, even if he wasn’t certain about the direction. His feet blindly carried him away, as if they knew the way home. He trusted his fear and adrenaline would get him somewhere safe. Patches nearly slips from his arms a few times, but Dream keeps moving.

Eventually, after what could have been minutes or hours, Dream finally reaches the edge of the forest, spotting the smoke rising from his house’s chimney. A warm light shines from the windows, a beacon in the dark of the night, and Dream finally feels safe again.

His chest heaves as he meets the back door, carelessly dropping Patches to the floor once he’s inside. His worried mother greets him, checking him for cuts, scrapes, and bruises as Dream tried to catch his breath.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? You’re flushed,” his mother says gently, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “Nothing happened, did it? You didn’t see anything? Anyone?”

Dream has to resist the urge to look back over his shoulder, towards the forest. He shakes his head, staring at the ground. “It was dark,” he mumbles. “Got scared.”

His mother sighs, brushing a thumb over his cheek. Her eyes are soft, comforting. Dream’s mind briefly flashes back to George’s eyes—they had almost gone reptilian. They were cold.  _ Terrifying.  _ Dream shudders at the memory. His mother offers him a kind smile. 

“At least bring a lantern in case Patches ever gets out again, okay?” She advises. “Otherwise, let’s try and stay away from the forest at night. There’s lots of dangerous creatures that live there, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Dream nods. He doesn’t think he’d want to go back anyways.

* * *

_**AGE 13** _

Dream doesn’t return to the forest unless he’s with someone, or it’s broad daylight, with the sun nowhere close to threatening the horizon. He had to feel safe, or he would hardly step foot into the woods.

Instead, to satiate his craving for adventure, he’d play fight with his friend Sapnap with crude, makeshift weapons, or offer help anywhere he could in his village. Anything to keep his mind from drifting back to the forest and what lurked within it once the sun had dipped below sight.

Dream is also careful to make sure Patches didn’t get too far again, either, even if sometimes he longed for an excuse to go explore again, as dangerous and anxiety-inducing as the idea was.

What lures him deep into the forest for the first time in years, since his encounter with George, was a dare. It was stupid, and never something Dream should have agreed with, but he does anyways.

“You’re not a pussy, are you?” Sapnap teases.

“Sapnap!” Bad scolds, but Sapnap ignores him, instead shoving his lantern in Dream’s face as Bad continues, “Dream, I can come with if you’d li—”

“No, Bad, that defeats the whole purpose,” Sapnap says. Dream takes the lantern from his friend with wary, trembling fingers. It weighs heavy in his hand.

“It’s okay, Bad,” Dream assures, though it really isn’t. He wished he hadn’t accepted the dare in the first place, but Bad coming with him would make Dream feel a lot better. Not that he’d admit that out loud. He was supposed to be brave,  _ courageous.  _ Not a coward. “The tree really isn't that far. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, Bad,” Sapnap chimes in. “Dream will be fine. The weeping willow is only a short walk into the forest. He’ll probably be out by nightfall anyways.”

Dream nods along to Sapnap’s words, trying to convince himself of their truth. The willow tree Sapnap had dared him to go pick one of the wildflowers from underneath could hardly be considered _deep_ deep within the forest, though it was far enough that Dream would not be able to see the edge of the woods. In the daytime, Dream would have no problem going in alone, but currently the sun was setting, and _quickly._ His weight shifted and swayed between his feet, worry growing more and more persistent in his chest. Dream sends a nervous glance towards the forest.

“Enough for a bouquet, Dream,” Sapnap reminds.

“Why don’t you do this yourself if you wanna impress Karl so bad, huh?” Dream retorts. It’s nothing but defensive. He tries to hide his fear, but the slight quiver in his voice offers him no favours. 

Sapnap glares at Dream. “Shut up,” he says. “That’s not what this is for.”

“Yeah, right,” Dream grumbles. He takes a deep breath. He looks to the forest once more. “Well, better now than never. If I  _ do _ want to get back before nightfall.”

Bad gives him a quiet  _ good luck,  _ and Sapnap gives Dream a friendly, encouraging pat on his shoulder, and Dream heads off.

The forest isn’t as scary to walk through when Dream has a lantern as his sidekick, but the flickering of its light and the flash of movement in his peripheral were not helpful. Dream sets his mind in the direction of the willow tree, of his stupid task as a way to distract himself, but the sound of wind through leaves or the crunch of sticks and pebbles beneath his shoes put him on edge.

Dream isn’t sure how long it takes, but he makes it to the weeping willow in haste. The wildflowers are much less impressive at night, wilting as a cause of the sleeping sun, the petals closing back into buds as a sort of hibernation for the night. Dream only figured Sapnap dared him to pick the plants as proof he went to the tree, but Dream doesn’t see much of a point in it as he sits down and plucks a few from the dirt. One flower would have sufficed, but Sapnap was an ass.

A  _ no _ would have sufficed, but Dream was stubborn.

Dream ends up with a healthy handful of plants—though surely most are weeds, not that he nor Sapnap would know the difference—before he stands once more, lantern hanging off much stabler fingers now, and flowers clutched in his other hand. Half the deed was done, and now all he had to do was walk back out of the forest.

_ Yeah Bad, Dream will be fine,  _ Sapnap’s words echo in his head.  _ Yeah,  _ Dream thinks,  _ I will be. I  _ am  _ fine. _

The deafening crack of a branch somewhere deep within the silent forest startles Dream, but he continues forth. His heart rattles against his ribs, but he chokes down his fright and perseveres. Most creatures of the forest would be more afraid of  _ him  _ than he was of  _ them,  _ and even so, anything willing to feast on a human could surely find something better than a scrawny thirteen-year-old boy. 

A sudden cold breeze raises the hairs on the back of his neck, and Dream shivers. Certainly the exit to the forest wasn’t too much further.  _ Fine, he would be fine. _

Dream feels a sharp tap on his shoulder, and he whirls around only to be greeted with the dark, empty expanse of forest he had just passed through. His heart races, eyes wide and searching for a culprit, but he sees nothing.

But then the light of his lantern suddenly goes out, and the first thought that crosses Dream’s mind is,  _ I am not fine. _

“Hello again,” a voice says, and it’s familiar, if only somewhat deeper. “Fancy seeing you out in the woods at this time.”

Dream turns around to a face he had only seen once before, but one he recognized nonetheless. It was the fae, George, that had tried to get his name three years ago. He looks unchanged, if a bit taller, though Dream creeps closer to his height this time. George’s pupils are dilated, human, and yet Dream is still terrified of his piercing gaze.

“I’m—I—I was—” Dream stammers, unable to find his words. His fingers curl harshly around the handle of the lantern, and crushes the flower stems as his grip tightens.

“You were what?” George asks. “Spit it out. Can’t be  _ that  _ hard to explain.”

“It was a dare,” Dream says, and suddenly the words come easy. Like a burden had been lifted from his tongue. “It was just a dare.”

“A dare,” George repeats, unimpressed. He scoffs, and gestures to the plants in Dream’s hold. “To what? Tear nature from its habitat? From my forest? That’s awfully unkind of you…”

Dream notices the way George’s words taper off, as if he was looking for something. A  _ name,  _ perhaps. “Maybe not,” Dream agrees instead. He puffs out his chest, standing his ground. Nerves still wash over him in waves, but George was not quite yet a threat to him.  _ Yet.  _ “But even so, you’re still not getting my name.”

“Shame,” George huffs. Dream can see the anger beginning to brew in his eyes and face in the pale moonlight. George ventures to ask, “And why is that?”

Dream swallows. “Because there’s no need for you to have it,” he says slowly. “I know what fae are supposed to do. I know why you want my name, so I won’t tell you.”

“But what if I’m different, hm?” George counters. He’s much too close to Dream for the younger boy’s liking, but a step back then would show his discomfort. His fear. “What if I just want to get to know you? Be  _ friends?  _ Is a name really too much to ask for, then?”

“Yes, it is,” Dream insists. “Because I know you  _ aren’t  _ different. I’m not an  _ idiot.” _

“Perhaps not, but you’re still  _ human,  _ and  _ naive,”  _ George says. A reserved, fiendish grin grows on his face, revealing sharpened teeth. Dream watches George’s pupils constrict. “I  _ let  _ you escape last time. I was  _ nice.  _ This time you don’t  _ get  _ to leave, not until I have your name.”

Dream finally takes a step back. “You really want my name that bad, huh?”

George seems to lighten at the prospect of Dream finally giving into his demands. His pupils dilate once again. “I do, yes,” George confirms. “So why don’t you make things easy for  _ both  _ of us? Don’t you want to be on your  _ merry way?” _

Dream musters what little courage he had lurking in his small frame, straightens his back, and stares George in the face with conviction. A plan forms in his head. “Fine then. How about I make you a deal, and  _ then _ you get my name. How’s that sound?”

George pauses, narrowing his eyes and scrutinizing Dream’s expression as if searching for any sign of deception. “I’m… interested. What sort of deal?”

“You let me walk to the edge of the forest, then I tell you my name. That’s the deal,” Dream proposes. It was weak, and George could probably sense the intention behind the suggestion, which is all the reason why Dream is surprised when George genuinely considers the offer.

George shrugs. “I might be able to manage that,” he says. “But you  _ swear  _ on giving me your name? Because even without it I can still kill you just as well.”

Dream nods once, firmly. “I promise. You’ll get a name once we’re there.”

George is still hesitant to accept, but he agrees anyways. “Alright, then. Let’s start walking, shall we?”

As George turns his back to Dream and begins walking, Dream lets out the sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. He jogs to catch up with George’s long strides, not wishing to provoke the fae further, especially with what he had planned in mind for once they reached the treeline.

It isn’t a long walk as predicted, since Dream’s original journey hadn’t been either, but Dream’s worry about his plan going smoothly made it seem like  _ forever.  _ The anticipation that builds up is torturous, but George is entirely oblivious, as far as Dream can tell.

The night had well approached and arrived, Dream notes, as he finally spots the clearing beyond the forest, where his friends still wait for him. George stops in his tracks and Dream nearly bumps into him, but is quick to halt his own footsteps. George turns back to Dream expectantly.

“You  _ are  _ planning to fulfill that promise, right?” George inquires. His tone is severe, like he was ready to make sure Dream didn’t see the light of day again if the younger boy had deceived him.

“Of course,” Dream says. “I’m not one to break them.”

“Then cut to the chase,” George advises. There is no emotion in his voice.

“You can call me Dream,” he states simply.

George considers his reply for a moment, then grins—though not in a satisfactory way, but more in cold realization. Panic creeps up Dream’s spine. “That’s not your name,” he says.

“I said I’d give you my name,” Dream replies, “but I only promised  _ a  _ name.”

George huffs out a humourless laugh. “You little shit. I’ll kill you, you know.”

Dream shakes his head, and now, even in the dark of the night, he felt brave,  _ valiant,  _ because, “We’re too close to the town for them not to hear me if I scream. You can’t kill me here, George. You can’t.”

With that, Dream pushes past George, no longer afraid of the fae. At least, not at that moment.

George catches Dream’s arm before he can get too far, and hisses, “I won’t even bother waiting to slit your throat next time I see you in my forest. Understand?”

Dream doesn’t say anything, instead tearing his arm from George’s grasp, and leaving the forest to reunite with his friends.

* * *

_**AGE 15** _

Dream nearly forgets about George and his threat as he grows older, becoming more and more occupied with work around the village, and anything more important to think about—which was just about everything.

In fact, sometimes it felt like George had simply been a figment of Dream’s imagination, though he very well knew that wasn’t the truth. The fear Dream had felt during their two interactions had been all too real,  _ much too real  _ for any sort of nightmare or hallucination.

It was a warm, sunny day. The sun sits high and bright in a cerulean, cloudless sky as Dream and Sapnap worked away at mucking a barn for one of the farmers of the village. Beads of sweat collected on the back of Dream’s neck as he stuck his pitchfork into another pile of dirtied hay, tossing it into a wheelbarrow.

It wasn’t  _ fun _ work, but it was  _ paid _ work.

“Hey Dream?” Sapnap asks, breaking Dream from his thoughts and concentration. He graciously takes the distraction however, as his muscles ached from the labour.

Dream pauses and turns to Sapnap, sticking the pitchfork in the soft ground. “What is it?”

Sapnap balances his weight on his own pitchfork as he leans on the handle. “Do you remember that night a few years ago, when I dared you to go pick flowers from under the willow tree?”

Dream snorts. “‘Course I do. I was scared half to death to do it, and in the end the flowers were all dead and wilted anyways. What about it?”

Sapnap laughs. “Well, feel free to call me crazy, but—right before you came out of the forest that night, Bad and I… we heard  _ voices.  _ And, well.  _ Your  _ voice was one of them, but it kinda sounded like you were talking to someone. Couldn’t hear anything you were saying, but… I don’t know. I don’t know. I never thought to bring it up since I thought me and Bad must have been going insane. You were probably just talking to yourself, right?”

Dream waits for Sapnap to finish rambling, heart sinking lower and lower in his chest as Sapnap keeps talking.

And while Dream thinks he could have easily told Sapnap he had been talking to himself, since he’d been scared and his lantern had gone out, but something compels the truth from Dream. Perhaps it was simply his disliking for dishonesty.

Sapnap looks to Dream, with concern and curiosity, his eyes begging for an answer. Dream shrugs helplessly. “You’re not crazy, Sapnap. Someone else  _ was  _ there,” Dream admits. The confession weighs heavy in the air.

Sapnap frowns, drawing his eyebrows together. “What… how? Who? No one… no one lives in the forest, and far as I know no one went in with you when—”

“George,” Dream says, as if the name held the answer. As if Sapnap understood.

“George?” Sapnap echoes, confusion laced in his tone, and rightfully so.

“Yes, George,” Dream confirms. “He’s… he was… I had met him before. Once. He’s… George isn’t human, Sap. He’s—he was a fae.”

Sapnap blinks, almost astonished. His concern overtakes his curiosity. “Dream, what do you mean a  _ fae?  _ They don’t… they’re not supposed to exist. They’re just some myth to keep children out of the forest. And… and how did you not…” Sapnap stammers. “How did you not  _ die,  _ if they  _ are _ real _? _ ”

“I don’t know, Sapnap!” Dream exclaims. “I tricked him, I guess. I haven’t been back since. It’s no big deal, really! You wanted to know the truth, that’s the truth. You aren’t mad. End of story. It happened two years ago anyway, it’s in the past.”

Sapnap shakes his head. “No, Dream, it’s—you said you  _ met  _ him before? Why didn’t you tell me? And don’t tell me he knows your name. I never would have dared you to go in that night if—if—”

Dream sighs. “It’s  _ fine,  _ Sapnap. I held my own. I’m still here. I’m not dead, and George doesn’t have my name. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Dream grits out. He turns his back to Sapnap and continues his work despite his friend’s protests and scolding, but Dream  _ really  _ did not want to continue the discussion.

When Sapnap finally accepts Dream’s cold shoulder, he goes silent, and they finish their workday without another word. Dream is still upset by the time they go their separate ways, but he doesn’t blame Sapnap. In all honesty, Dream was more surprised that Sapnap had so easily believed him about there being a fae residing somewhere in the forest that bordered their town. Even if Dream had explained the same story to Bad, who had been there and apparently had heard Dream and George’s voices as well, he likely would not have believed Dream. Not many people would.

Sapnap was right. Fae weren’t meant to exist. 

But they did. George existed.

And Dream was about to go find him, this time in daylight. Even despite the threat George had left him with last time they spoke.

Dream isn’t quite sure what pushes him to march past his home and straight to the forest, nor why Dream thought finding George would prove anything, but he goes irregardless. Dream wasn’t in the mood to speak with friends or family at the moment.

Perhaps it was his determinedness, the sunlight, or some other outside force, but Dream has no issue wandering as far into the forest as his legs would take him. He wanted to find the fae, and that he did.

Well, _Dream_ doesn’t find George, but rather, George finds _him._

Dream has stumbled upon a thinning creek, water glittering in the light of the sunlight that pierced the shade of the trees. It was an area Dream was unfamiliar with, but there, as he takes a moment to sip water from the creek to make up for his growing fatigue and parched throat, a hand digs into his shoulder, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Do you not remember what I told you last time,  _ Dream?”  _ George snarls into his ear, spitting the name Dream had given him with nothing but venom. Sharp nails dig through the cloth of Dream’s shirt, leaving deep crescents in his skin. “Or must I remind you?”

Dream doesn’t look at George, whilst he’s crouched down near the water. His gaze is concentrated on the trees and forest across from the small body of water. Fear stews deep in his gut, but Dream ignores it. George was not as scary as he made himself seem.  _ George was not as scary as he made himself seem. _

“You said you wouldn’t bother waiting to kill me, and yet,” Dream pauses. “You stop to offer to remind me of that same threat.”

With Dream’s words, George tugs Dream’s shoulder back so the human is forced to face him. Dream falls on his ass with the force, water seeping into his clothes, but Dream could say with confidence that that was the least of his worries.

George is seething, offended by Dream’s remark. Insulted, even. His pupils are thin, teeth predatory and deadly. He’s almost scarier in the light of the day. A dagger is pressed to Dream’s throat.

Dream blinks up at the fae, fearful. He’s afraid to swallow, afraid to let his Adam's apple pass under the blade of the knife. His chest constricts, afraid to  _ breathe. _

“Give me one good reason why I  _ shouldn’t  _ cut your throat right now,” George demands. “Go on. And if you feel like lying to me again, at least make it believable.”

Dream is unable to form a coherent thought, more focusing on the death that threatened his neck at the present moment. “I—I,” he stammers. His mind swirls with thoughts, none of them useful. If he hadn’t realized coming back to the forest was a bad idea before, he surely did now.

_ “I—I,”  _ George mocks, increasing the pressure of the dagger to Dream’s throat. A small cut forms, and a droplet of blood trickles down Dream’s neck. “That’s not a reason. You get  _ one more _ fucking chance.”

Dream tries to take a deep breath under his given circumstance, but it’s rather unsatisfactory in helping to calm himself. “I,” he starts again, slower. “I think it’s rather unthoughtful of you to kill a defenseless kid.”

George grunts, pushing the dagger further. Dream’s breath hitches, as he’s quick to add, “Especially without knowing his real name first.”

George hesitates, and after careful consideration, releases some of the pressure of the blade, though the threat still remains. “I know you still won’t tell me,” George states, and he isn’t wrong—but he isn’t quite  _ right,  _ either.

“No,” Dream concurs. “But I know that if you kill me without knowing, it won’t be  _ nearly  _ as satisfying. All this hard work for nothing.”

George genuinely pauses at the thought, and after what feels like an eternity, the dagger is dropped back to George’s side. He stands, towering over Dream, who was gently rubbing a hand over his throat where the blade had been. George ponders Dream’s words, and for a second, a mere moment, Dream thinks that maybe he had won.

“You’re right,” George says. “I would hate for all this time and effort to go to waste. But… I have no qualms with killing you anyways. You’re hardly a  _ kid.” _

Dream gets up, ungracefully. His height matches George’s, now.

“Maybe that’s true.” Dream shrugs. “But are you sure you’d want to live with that dissatisfaction for the rest of your life? Certainly not.”

“I’ve done it before,” George says. “And I’d do it again. But, I must ask you first, Dream—what brought you back? Did my threat not deter you?”

Dream shrugs again. “I suppose it did for the past two years, but… today, I’m not sure. I wanted to come find you,” he confesses, and George frowns. He looks at Dream as if he had grown a third head, which is sort of ironic considering George was the supernatural creature of them both.

“You… you  _ wanted  _ to come find me?” George asks, unsure. As if he didn’t believe Dream, which, if Dream were the fae, he wasn’t certain he would believe himself either. It made little sense, but it was the truth. The honest to God truth.

Dream nods. “I did, yeah. I mean,  _ I  _ don’t even know why, but…” Dream trails off, not knowing how to properly phrase his admission. “I did,” he says instead.

George shakes his head. “You  _ are  _ an idiot,” he accuses. “You have a death wish. No human in their right mind would go seeking a fae.”

Dream picks at his fingernails, diverting his gaze to the forest floor. “Most humans don’t think fae exist, and besides… I was upset. About something. What better way to change that than nearly get myself killed.”

George doesn’t say anything in response, but rather a smile creeps up his face, and a genuine, wholehearted laugh bubbles up his throat. It’s a terrible, stark contrast to the persona he had just been putting on, the intimidating, cruel,  _ evil  _ character he had been maintaining throughout their past two encounters, and most definitely the start of this one. It almost takes Dream aback.

Dream looks back up at George, confusion etched into his features as George continues to laugh. “What’s so funny?” He asks warily. 

“You—you really,” George says between breaths, as his laughing fit came to a gradual end. “Unbelievable. Seeking  _ me,  _ as a way to make you feel better? There has to be something wrong with you.  _ Has  _ to be.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dream grumbles. “Fine, if you’re gonna have such a field day with this, I’m going home. And don’t bother threatening me again or whatever, I won’t come back. A third time was more than enough, clearly.”

Any residual fear of the fae had all but dissipated. He wasn’t some  _ wicked  _ being of the forest, he was just an asshole with a penchant for murder. Apparently all it had taken was curiosity and daylight for Dream to see that.

As Dream walks off, muttering to himself, George calls after him, “I’ll see you soon, Dream! I’ll be counting the days!”

Dream flips off the fae as he trudged onward, but something deep down agrees with George. Now that they have had a  _ sort  _ of understanding, Dream thinks that,  _ yeah, maybe I will come back soon. _

He didn’t have any reason not to, now.

* * *

_**AGE 21** _

It takes time, but as Dream had begun to make frequent visits to the forest whenever he seized the opportunity, he and George became some semblance of friends—even if George still threatened murder just about every visit.

It’s a reluctant friendship, but it’s born of a strange sort of mutual understanding between outsiders. George stops asking for Dream’s real name after about two years, realizing his effort had become fruitless. Dream was resilient, pig-headed—and while George was cunning, sly, and had nearly caught Dream off guard a few times, push never came to shove, and Dream would never fall for his tricks. 

Dream does learn truths about fae and the forest through George, and the differences between legend and the real thing. In turn, George learns about life in the village, and fables about the forest and what resided in between tall trees and diverse greenery. 

They sit nearby the same creek where George had held a dagger to Dream’s throat, pressed knee-to-knee as they sit cross-legged and watch the water rush over stones, watch leaves and dead pine needles drift down the current. George leans his head on Dream’s shoulder.

Dream nudges George, and the fae lifts his head to look at Dream, brows furrowed. “What?”

“Do you ever think about leaving the forest?” Dream asks. It’s an honest and curious question, though he doesn’t expect a straight reply from George. The fae had a knack for avoiding the response Dream was often looking for. Perhaps that was just because mischief and misdirection were supposed common traits of a fae, or maybe it was just George.

George hums, dropping his head back on Dream’s shoulder. “Sometimes I do. I don’t know if I would want to, though,” he says. “It’s nice here.”

“But there’s so much more to the world than this forest,” Dream argues. He picks a pebble from the ground and tosses it in the creek. “I know I wouldn’t want to stay in my village for the rest of my life, however long that may be.”

George sighs. “That’s rather human of you.”

Dream scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your kind are wanderers. Explorers. I’ve seen every inch of this forest and it still feels like the first time every time I take a walk,” George says. “There’s no reason for me to leave—and the moment I’m discovered to not be human, I’m  _ dead.  _ The outside world is as dangerous for me as this forest is for you. That’s what it means.”

Dream shrugs George off his shoulder and stands, dusting off the dirt and pine needles that had stuck to his clothing. George follows his movements with much more grace than any human could manage. It’s effortless.

Dream towers over the fae, now.

“Most people don’t believe fae actually exist, you know,” Dream says. “And it’s not like you don’t look human.”

George huffs and rolls his eyes. “There’s more to it than that, Dream. My reasoning runs deeper than your tiny human brain could ever comprehend.  _ Magic  _ reasons, which are much beyond your domain of understanding,  _ you know,”  _ the fae snaps. 

Dream pauses, George’s words swirling in his mind as he took time to consider them, mull them over. He had figured George had more reasoning he didn’t wish to share—he often did—but it was still frustrating. Over ten years they had at the very least been acquainted, and somehow George found a way to tell Dream everything and nothing about him at once. 

And  _ somehow,  _ Dream had still found a way to like his companionship. Sometimes more so than friends he’d known for much longer.

Dream doesn’t think out his next words before they spill from his mouth and into the fresh, open air of the forest. “What if I gave you my name? Would you leave then?” Dream asks quietly.

George looks up at Dream, incredulous. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“That’s not an answer.”

George shakes his head. “No, Dream. The answer is no. I don’t… I don’t even fucking care about your name anymore. You know the power you’d give to me, and for what? What if I didn’t go…  _ wherever  _ it is you want me to go. What if I didn’t want to go along with whatever stupid plan is brewing in that head of yours, huh? What then?” George questions. “You hand me that control for _ nothing?” _

“That’s fucking rich coming from you,” Dream retorts. He folds his arms over his chest. “What would get you to leave then, huh? If even for a little while.”

George looks about ready to hit Dream. “Why do you want me to leave, Dream?  _ Why? _ Why are you so fucking insistent about this?”

Dream freezes. He hadn’t  _ truly _ thought about it, nor was he sure if he wanted to, even in searching for a reply to George’s question. George was interesting, funny, and could hold his own. He made for a great companion, and the curiosity he displayed when he wasn’t in a murderous mood was endearing, and more incredible than any one of Dream’s human friends could express. George was the perfect travel companion.

And maybe the perfect  _ something else  _ that Dream had yet to acknowledge.  _ It was a reluctant friendship,  _ he recalls thinking, and realizes just how untrue that was, from both perspectives.

“I want you to come with me, George, _that’s_ why,” Dream admits, and while it’s not his full confession, it is most certainly a part of it. “I want to see the world with someone, and _you_ happen to be the person I want to do that with. That’s why I’m being insistent.”

George’s expression is apprehensive, like he doesn’t want to believe the words Dream is saying. Like he doesn’t want to  _ hear  _ them. “But… why  _ me?  _ What about your human friends, Dream? People who would leave in a heartbeat to go travelling with you? I’m… I’m not meant to be special, in fact—you’re meant to hate me. I still don’t know why you kept coming back.”

“Because I realized you weren’t who—weren’t  _ what  _ you were making yourself seem,” Dream explains. “You’re not evil, George, even if you held a knife to my throat, it felt  _ forced.  _ You let me escape for  _ some  _ sort of reason, I’d assume?”

George is silent at this, and though he tries to appear stoic, his face is still telling to Dream. The fae’s face tells Dream that there are words caught in his throat that he  _ knows  _ he should tell Dream, but didn’t necessarily  _ want  _ to. Dream had grown to know the look very well.

“You were just some innocent kid, Dream, you were right about that,” George says softly. “I couldn’t—no, Dream, I can’t… I can’t just up and leave the forest, Dream. As much as I…”

George’s mouth sits open as if the remainder of that sentence stuck to his tongue. Dream frowns. “As much as you  _ what,  _ George?” He urges.

George’s eyes, unlike Dream had come to know, are vulnerable. Sad. “As much as I really  _ would _ want to,” he professes. 

Dream takes George’s hands in his. Dream’s expression is earnest, and just as vulnerable as George had let himself be in Dream’s presence. It was one of the greatest shows of trust George had offered him. “I never said it had to be forever, George. Maybe just… a few weeks, or something of the like. You could manage that much, I’m sure of it.”

“You mean it?” George whispers, voice hoarse. 

Dream nods. “I do.”

George smiles, close-lipped. It’s not done in malice, but in humour. “You’re gonna regret saying that. I’ll annoy you to hell and back.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I’ll regret it, and somehow, I don’t think you will,” Dream says. A grin tugs at his own lips.

“I’m gonna make you eat your words, Dream,” George promises.

Dream brings a hand to George’s chin and tilts it upwards, leaning forward to meet the fae’s lips with his own. George makes a surprised noise, but melts into the kiss with ease. His arms hook around Dream’s neck and pull him closer. Dream’s other hand moves to cup George’s cheek.

“Clay,” Dream utters against George’s mouth.

After a moment, George draws away. “What?”

“Clay,” Dream repeats, breathless. “That’s my name.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed as much as i enjoyed writing!! <3
> 
> here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/crimsvn2), and here is [gen's (honeybeb)](https://twitter.com/honey_beb_) if you wanna say hi!!


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